


Our World, Our Territory

by BurrSquee, Tikor



Series: Castebook: Changing Moon [4]
Category: Exalted
Genre: Gen, Lunars, POV First Person, Roleplaying Character, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 07:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12700677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurrSquee/pseuds/BurrSquee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikor/pseuds/Tikor
Summary: Herein are the worlds of six Changing Moons as they navigate Creation and carve out their little slice of it.





	1. Our World, Our Territory: Changing Moon

The Changing Moons shape their worlds like the hawk makes her nest - wholly to their liking, regardless of what disparate sticks its component parts once were. Of course, they do not reshape the entire world anymore than the hawk reshapes the entire tree - what to throw out is just as important as what to weave in. Changing Moons often find themselves as the glue that holds their tribe or their faction together. Without their sustained effort at forging a tribal identity or convincing others to strive and sacrifice for the founding mission of a faction, the whole edifice falls apart. When a Changing Moon comes in from the Wyld to a new territory, other Lunars take notice, for she will soon have favors and allies and an agenda that must be respected… or else.


	2. Ten Stripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten Stripes, a big fish on a small island.

**Simenare**  
After the Gathering, after saying my goodbyes to all of my new tribe, I got to be alone. Out in the ocean I did some thinking. I ran So-Lu-Si’s story of the river through my mind again and again. And after a few days, I decided that I’d start my own society where anybody could perform any task. Now that Luna had granted me strength and my tribe the knowledge to use it, I was ready to dare the Storm Mothers to stop me putting them in their place.

It didn’t take too long to find a little island out in the middle of the ocean where people were getting by as best they knew. Not as best as they _could_ , see, because like everybody else out West they had this fear of the Storm Mothers keeping the women-folk stuck on the island. So I decided to start shaking things up.

First thing I did was I challenged the Storm Mothers for miles around to either face me in combat or let women sail. I told 'em I got a new deal: they could still attack ships that didn’t pray to em, but that attacking a ship just for having a woman on it would earn another visit from me. Most of ‘em, they didn’t take to well to the idea, and I had to twist their arms behind their ugly backs. But in the end I think I got the message through. ‘Leastwise, I only had to repeat my visit a couple of times since then. 

Second thing, I could tell that the men-folk wouldn’t like giving up their exclusive privilege to sailing, even if the Storm Mothers did let that fly. So I spied on the local Fair Folk. They were a pathetic, malnourished lot, they were. ‘Queen’ Anahima was leading them with a story she sang about them being the biggest, scariest things in the waters, but with the scraps of Wyld energy coming off their little freehold, she couldn’t make good on her boasts. So I walked in there and told em that in order to take on the big fish they first needed to get fat on the small fish first. We worked out a plan where they’d draw out the menfolk from Simenare with their greed, scaring up a great many schools of fish. While they were busy pulling up nets like they’d never seen before, Amahima and her folk would snatch em all. All I asked is that they’d leave the boats mostly intact so that I could take ‘em back. With no menfolk and a bunch of empty boats, see, I’d be halfway there to getting the women of Simenare on the water. 

After the bait and ambush, which went better than I could have expected, I showed myself to the good people of Simenare. I tied all their boats together with fishing line, then bit on the end of it in my siaka form and drug all their boats back to shore. When I washed up and changed my shape I said to them, “The Fair Folk have taken all the men who once sailed these boats.” They were right terrified by that. Which is what I was hoping. I went on, “But I have been Chosen by Luna to keep Creation safe from their viciousness! I’ve come to protect you from the Fair Folk! You folks fall in line behind me, and we’ll teach those Fae to never come back!”

It felt real nice when they all bowed to me.

 **The Fair Folk**  
Now, you don’t think I was gonna let those Fair Folk just fatten themselves up and start causing trouble, did you? No, I’ve heard the stories about ‘em even before I was chosen by Luna. You don’t let them swim in your waters if you can help it. So here’s what I did. 

During the men’s funerals I got them all worked up about who was responsible for taking them before their time. They weren’t all laid to rest the same night, so I riled ‘em up again and again. The shaman probably knew every phrase I’d say by heart after a week of that, since she was at all the ceremonies. Then, at the markets, I made a big fuss outta no good fish being available. I said that’d never be the case if we were sailing those empty boats. I paid a little girl a coin to help me out in the market, too. When they inevitably asked how those boats would be put to use with so few men around, this little girl piped up and asked, “Why can’t the women sail them?” I fussed over her and told her how smart she was and gave her a treat, right in front of the rest of the women. Finally, I got in one of those boats myself, and went around the island again and again, in full view with no Storm Mothers sending anything nasty my way. By then they’d learned not to mess with me. I’d bring in nice fat fish and sell them for half what they were worth to any woman who would give me her ear. 

The next month, I had 'em out on the water. And the month after that, I’d convinced them to join me avenging their husbands.

When we’d sailed out to the Fae’s freehold, I led the charge. I shouted, “Queen Anahima! You wanted to fight the most dangerous fish in the sea and have taken the people of Simenare to feast upon to gain strength! I am that most dangerous fish, the siaka! Here I am! Kill me if you can!”

I jumped into the water, changing to my spirit shape as I entered. And then we got to fighting. 

We wiped that freehold clean of every Fae in it. And even though I lost about half of ‘em, the woman that sailed home that night had a pride in ‘em they’d never felt before. The pride of owning the ocean. The rescued menfolk were mighty grateful, and very few, which went to plan. And the tribute they heaped upon me was more than I’d ever thought they had squirreled away. We had a great feast, mourned our dead, and danced around the beach fires until dawn.

As for the Fae, I figure I have a few years before another bunch of ‘em come swimming in and calling that little freehold home. Maybe next time we’ll reach some sort of understanding. Depends on what stories they tell themselves.

 **Rule**  
From the stories I’ve heard at the Gatherings, I know that many in the Silver Pact don’t approve of god-kings. I don’t plan on drinking their plum wine on my seashell throne and ordering them about forever. But I’m new to this, and I feel like if I’m not here, they’re just going to revert on back to the old ways. I’ll pass the power back, once their grandparents have forgotten what it was like to separate their work by anything other than who does it best, they see the rest of the West for the backwards hooligans they are, and the Storm Mothers as upjumped little spirits with bad tempers. One thing the Immaculate Philosophy gets right is that it is the Exalted’s place to mediate between the spirit world and mortals, so that all this bad stuff doesn’t fall out of a snitty spirit tipping over a few boats and letting shipwrecked sailors tell wild stories about them and their jealousy. The Immaculates just don’t give us Lunars the place we deserve above Dragon-kind. They’ll be next on the list, once I’ve got the West in ship shape.

And it’s not like I’m ruling Simenare every day. I swim off to the Gatherings. I go chase the Fae out of our waters. I check in on the Storm Mothers on the edge of my waters, bringing them into the fold of our understanding. I pay my respects to the Ocean Father’s court. And I break those Storm Mothers who’ve gone back on our deal. Each trip takes a little longer as I get my footing on a larger chunk of Creation. One day, many years from now, I’ll have wandered off and won’t come back, just like the Scarlet Empress.

 **Revolt**  
I swam back to Simenare yesterday, and I could feel the tension in the air. The normal supplicants bowed, brought me my plum wine and fresh fish, and listened to my commands, so I tried to put the feeling out of my mind. But as I was detailing how any shipwrecked travellers that would wash up onshore would be treated with respect and guest-right for a year and a day, I was attacked! A spear burst right through my shoulder. So I ran off into the ocean and switched forms to think about what I was going to do. I’m not as gifted with healing as some of my sisters in the Silver Pact, so keeping below water while my wound closed up sounded prudent. On the one hand, I’m proud of them for even attempting to attack an Exalted. On the other hand, those ungrateful mortals don’t appreciate all I’ve done for them! I’ll sneak in among them with an animal form they’ve never seen me take, and find out who threw that spear. But I might not kill them immediately. It depends on who they are and what they want. Disgracing them will almost certainly be more effective. I remember the songs. Nothing rallies rebellions as swiftly as martyrs.


	3. Seven Devils Clever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven Devils Clever, a street-smart girl in and out of the big, bad city.

**Mortals**  
Masalle was never the same after that night with the Faeblooded. He was no use to anyone as a courtesan anymore. He’d flinch and start when someone tried to touch him, even good friends like myself. But, he’d been in the business for long enough, and had enough of a head on his shoulders to have other uses. I was just a minor girl in the brothel at the time, but I arranged for him to become the Don for Sacra’s next of kin, who was befuddled at inheriting a pleasure house. An introduction here, pointing out Masalle’s knowledge through an innocuous question there. Masalle looked after the girls and hired some security for himself, not just the house, after Sacra’s end. Sacra’s brother, Tall Tower, we only saw a few times, but that was enough for me to figure the right angle.

I knew a good mark when I saw one. Tall Tower had a priestly look about him, so I made him an offer, one that let me trade up from just another girl in the house to the owner, so long as I gave him a monthly fee he could pass along to his favorite church. He wouldn’t need to sully his hands with the business of carnal sin and still have the windfall of his inheritance. After the sale, I was getting what was left of the profits. But I didn’t replace Masalle. His dedication to the day to day has allowed me to get into the… adventures that seem to follow Luna’s touch. He’s smart enough to defer to me as madame when I am in residence. And I’m smart enough to make sure everyone knows he speaks with my authority when I’m away. 

**Lunars**  
Most of that time away I spend away from the Three Chests I spend in the company of my fellow Lunars, especially Silver Python. She, or he if the year is right, will with little prompting tell me more about the ways of using Essence to shape moonsilver in the ways of artifice. I’m hooked.

To create something so timeless, so powerful, so worthy to be born lifts my spirits from anticipation through completion. I, a lowborn daughter of Nexus, never imagined that my maker’s mark would grace anything growing up. My chosen profession leaves nothing but contented signs and sticky residue, both mopped away shortly, temporary by necessity. But now I regularly wear my Silver Light Cross, something that will last centuries, hopefully all of them in my possession.

Of course, I cannot spend all my time devising such wonders. I have responsibilities - to my business, to my fellows in the Silver Pact, and the daily needs of existence. And there’s the problem of inspiration. I once attempted to force a design to fruition directly after completing Silver Light’s Cross. Everything felt off from the start - I was attempting some moonsilver earrings to accent my lovely Cross. But I ended up with some oddly shaped moonsilver that could be worn dangling from pierced ears, but my Essence senses told me had no more special power than to catch and reflect moonlight especially well. So I melted them back down to the magical material of their construction. 

When I confessed this failure to Silver Python, she told me that inspiration is the true limitation to artifice. That your soul must well up with contented creations of lesser importance to have the pieces fit together in grander designs. She told me to practice my mortal crafts as I had always done, weaving, cutting, and sewing the fetching, teasing things me, my boys, and my girls wear about the Three Chests. And she offered to teach me the art of jewelcraft, which she noted was much different than making clothing of any kind. I have my trip planned back to Halta soon. Just as soon as I’ve dealt with a few Guildsmen who are causing me grief. 

**Gods**  
I know I can’t keep fully out of the ways of gods, especially those whose domains I regularly play in. There’s the Emissary, for one. Lots of mortals deal with it, being a city god that weighs in on the ruling of Nexus. Mostly the council, but anybody in high enough society will have an audience through the years. I’m not there yet, but it’s coming.

Luna and I are already acquainted. As far as I’m concerned, she can work a shift in the Three Chests anytime she pleases. I make sure to let her know the option is open with my prayers. But not everyday, as another show of devotion to her fickle nature.

There’s Livilla, Goddess of Prostitutes, to whom I make the appropriate prayers and at the beginning and the end of the day and a sacrifice of incense every time I hire a new girl or boy to practice her profession. And then Uvanavu, the Chrysanthemum Shogun, God of Health and Well-Being, who I pray to for the health of everyone who frequents the Three Chests. Nothing hurts business quite like a rumor of nasty rashes pointing to us as the source. But these high deities whose blessings I court I am far away from meeting.

Then there is the god of the Nexus district, All Man’s Market, and the god of the Harlotry section where the Three Chests stands, River’s Legs, whose title is the Wet Harlot. I’ve seen All Man’s Market hawking wares for the fun of it in the Big and Little Market, and he always gathers a crowd. I hear he gives his proceeds away, keeping only enough to buy some stock when the fancy strikes him again. I hear the merchants of the Nexus district give him sweetheart deals after only enough jolly haggling to savor the interaction, though I’m not sure I believe it. I have yet to see them sell anything for even an eighth dinar less than what they think they can get. I’m fairly sure I’ve seen River’s Legs around already, begging in the street. In fact, I believe I offered her a job. She looked like just another street rat, but a fresh one. Well-fed and comely enough to catch my eye, with wet hair though the day was sunny, and a desperate look. Just unrecognizable enough for me to look twice. When she refused to be lead to the Three Chests with offers of a hot meal today and employment tomorrow I sent one of my guards to keep an eye on her with the promise that if I hired her he’d have a week’s time with her as training. But he never found her. She didn’t turn up in the same street; no one reported her missing the next day, or the day after that. And no corpse was found. Odd for a beggar. My money’s on something supernatural, and my hunch is that River’s Legs simply changed her form to look like a new, desperate migrant about to break into the fleshtrade as a freelancer.

**Government**  
The Council of Entities has an open mind about any type of business selling its wares in Nexus, pleasure houses included. Of course they take their fees, but they are not usurious, not for a profitable business like mine. They keep the peace and they shelter within their city a plenty of lonely fools with dinars burning holes in their pockets and breathing hope into their loins. And they haven’t called a Wyld Hunt down on me yet. They’re alright. I’ll be sad to leave once I’m forced to move on.


	4. Red Jaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red Jaws, papa wolf of the North.

**The Silver Pact**  
To the Silver Pact, and Gerd especially, I owe a debt. It is right here, on my tattoos. They taught me so much about the world, at their Gatherings and through stories, that I couldn't have known as a mortal hunter. I'd still be hunting deer without them, slowly twisting with mutations until I was no longer myself. They saved me from becoming a monster, and for that I am grateful. 

And these tattoos have shown their worth against the Fair Folk a time or two. I've been able to hunt more dangerous game - things that shouldn't be in a world where man and beast can flourish. The Silver Pact supports me, lets me claim my Territory and follow my will, not even demanding taxes, and I am again grateful. 

But, for all that, I don't interact with them much. Running in a pack has never been my nature. I'm content to be the one asked for help, instead of the one doing the asking. I hunt only the prey I can get my jaws around, none bigger. That's not enough for some Lunars, and I'm happy to come along and set a snare to help them with their big game. Afterwards, I say farewell.

**Lunar Societies**  
I don't have the time to wag my tongue about the theory of what is the right way, what is the wrong way, and what way will be. I've got prey to shadow. If sitting around arguing could solve anything, it would have by now, because I hear they've been at it for centuries. The right way ends in a kill and a full belly. The wrong way ends when the spear misses and you're left hungry. Sometimes you feel like you've launched a good throw, and nothing comes back. Sometimes the spear feels wrong coming out of your fingers and it hits home anyway. Don't trust your intuition, or fancy words, or the stars. Trust your belly.

**Mortals**  
As much as I like being filled with Luna's grace, it's not for everyone. With the power I have now I could cause some real trouble for just about anybody if I had a mind to. I don't like the chances of everyone playing nice when they can rip trees up with one hand, stalk the snows with no footprints, or twist the Wyld like the Fair Folk. Sounds like Creation would be a right mess right quick. Anyhow, Luna's decided the matter for us. Seems like she only sees fit to have a few hundred of her children in the world at a time. That means most everybody is going to be mortal. 

Mortal life is hard in the North, and I respect the ones that learn to thrive in it like I once did. There's nothing more noble than doing the best you can where you are with what you have. I like to tilt the odds in my Territory such that the lives these mortals have scratched out of the snows for themselves they get to keep. Nothing raises my hackles faster than some ghost drinking the blood of a hardworking Northerner. I don't ask anything in return. They earned the lives they’ve made for themselves; I’m just watching to see that nobody steals them. I take pride in them not even knowing I'm here.

**My Territory**  
I’ve always been a hunter. Now that the The White Navigator has shown me the way, I hunt more dangerous game for different reasons, but the tricks of the trade are the same.

As a Lunar, as the Silver Pact likes to make airs about, making a living off the land is easily done. Not a life’s work like it was in my mortal life, even in the harsh North. So I spend my free time making the wild lands safe enough for others like my former self to prosper on. I’ve learned that I was lucky, spending as many years in the wilderness and avoiding all the magical beasts that could tear a man in half to eat his innards. I especially look after my son, Sorran, who hasn’t seen me since I gifted him my old cabin. He wouldn’t appreciate the help, and I’m too soft to explain what’s out there, taking away his independence. His cabin is the heart of my Territory. 

I’m happy to see he’s found a trader wife for himself, and they’ve been blessed by two little children so far. I thank the Two-Faced Bride for that.

I’ve kept Fair Folk, ravagers, Wyld barbarian nomads who somehow made it across the White Sea, hushed ones, walking dead, ghosts, mad elementals, and selfish gods in their places, sometimes under six feet of tundra. Along the way I’ve avoided making enough of a ruckus to bring the Wyld Hunt down on my head, though there have been a few close calls where I saw them coming first with my bloodsight. I must be doing a good job, because the Silver Pact has sent the odd Lunar pup my way from time to time, for me to take under my wing after their tattoos are set. I don’t see the wisdom of Luna’s choice for half of them, especially the city folk don’t know how to hunt anything bigger than a rat, and then poorly. But she is my deity, and I am not the first to be confused by her fickle ways. 

Whenever I’m frustrated by the arrogance or ignorance of these newly made sisters and brethren, I remember back to the time I spent in my cabin in the far lands with Snow Bank. All my children were different, needed different things, had different strengths, and different weaknesses. Yet they all found a way to prosper. I think of my time as a mortal as my childhood, and I was blessed to have a long one. I used it to grow out of many childish things. Most Lunars are not so lucky; they’re barely finished being a mortal child when Luna graces them. They have twice as much to grow out of as a new Lunar, the mortal child and the Lunar pup’s bad habits both. So I dig deep, and tell them to try again at the lesson of the day.

My latest pup, Spirit of Sunset, is from the Western shore of the Northern Threshold. From a fishing village, he was apprenticed to the shaman there. He still prays to the sea spirits, as he was taught, for the prosperity of a village who will never know his diligence. He was so busy learning the proper prayers and propriations, I don’t think he ever ate a fish he caught himself. He likes to just stare at the birds and the bucks, admiring them, and they run off before he can loose an arrow. He’s shown no knack for the bone spears I throw. I’ve starved us both when he fails, to teach him to focus. Nothing sharpens the mind quite like hunger. To me, it is a small price to teach the right lesson. To hear him whine, you’d think I had beaten the boy thrice a day. But we’ll make a hunter out of him yet.

**My Mentor**  
Gerd taught me so much. He taught me the Lunar ways, arranged for my tattooing, and all the oral history I could drink in. But most importantly, he showed me how to be a mentor to a pup, raising me from a mortal who could barely speak to other Lunars to a Silver Pact member in good standing. 

When I think back on the years since my second breath, I sure do remember many a good hunt. But even now they've started to blur together. I find myself telling a story about one Fair Folk and mixing in details about another before correcting myself. If they were still alive they'd sure hate to hear that, particular as they are about their identities. But I've never done that to a story about a pup. I've had fewer of them, sure. I take my pups on all my hunts when they are around. But still, I feel like those are the memories that will stick with me even into my next life. 

**My Pups**  
I range out to Olliand Nation's lands across the White Sea every few years to see how he's doing, share a buck and jug of the good stuff. It helps me to talk through some hunts where the quarry got away with an equal, because I feel he has grown into one. He's a fine hunter, but he spends his time farming a greenfield and teaching the other mortals up there how to do the same. I can't say my advice has been very helpful since he took on that task. I think he looks back on the time we spent together fondly. He always receives me warmly, and when we talk about my hunts I can tell he misses the thrill.

I haven't seen Fells much. She swam off to the West once we were done. I feel like she can make her way on land outside the sight of the sea good enough, and by the end I think I may have impressed upon her just how much land that’s never felt an ocean breeze there is and why it's useful to be able to live off of it. Hopefully she remembers. We parted on good terms, but we're not as close as me and Olliand Nation.

Spirit of Sunset, now, we're still in that struggling phase. It's nice and all to look back to pups past, but doing so you tend to skip over the hard parts and remember when they brought home a kill. In the thick of it, it's hard to overlook just how lost they are, and how you have to lope with them holding you back like a chain on your leg. You wonder if the favor they'll owe you will ever be worth the trouble it takes to claw into their tattoos. But, it is the fate of pups to grow, as the story says. He'll grow. I'm going to make sure of it.

**The Solars, the Dragon-Blooded, the Sidereals, the Abyssals, the Gentimians, the Liminals...**  
As long as they stay out of my Territory, they can keep on hunting as they see fit.


	5. Song Sparrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song Sparrow, delicate Western sword.

**Mersach**  
After all these years I still think about Mersach. I’ve never seen him, or heard from him. And yet… and yet…

I’m far beyond fulfilling his deal out of fear. I have come to love the Swords of Luna, their mission, their members, even the fighting. It’s exciting, it has a purpose, though most will never know of our sacrifices. I think Mersach knows. I think he looks down on me, or I like to think so, from his heavenly city. I believe that I am still part of his ‘responsibility’. Perhaps we will meet again one day.

 **The Swords of Luna**  
We are, by our calling, a very widely spread organization. We ring Creation and tip our toes into the Wyld beyond. We hunt and slay most things outside the Dragon’s reach too violent to live alongside Gaia’s great work. Though sometimes we let pass those headed towards Dragon-Blooded lands with surety and speed, to remind them of their own duties, or simply to cause mischief. Since we feel the calling to defend Creation, we rarely leave our posts. So it is that I know few of my like-minded faction-mates by their faces, only by reputation. But still, I will tell you of them.

Him What Waits has been a close friend to me, my partner in the Swords’ duty. It is dangerous for one my age to go alone, he says. At first I thought it was because I was less than a century into my understanding of my Essence, but it has been decades since I passed that mark and still Him What Waits keeps me company out beyond the edge of the world. I might suspect he underestimates my child-like form, except that he has seen me deal death with it to all manner of Wyld things. I might resent his patronizing companionship, except that he has saved me many times, allowing me to reach this age at all. He seems to know where I will cross the border of the Wyld before even I do. He and his skiff await me every time I step, swim, or fly into my first waypoint. It has become so common between us that I no longer question him. I simply tell him what I hope to accomplish in the Wyld, and we see to it together.

Crow flies the Western skies like I do, avian eyes searching for threats who have crossed Luna’s barrier into Gaia’s Creation. He often drags his Ration Brotherhood with him, and together they slay what has slithered too far. Though they have many kills to their name, Blackbird and Wind’s Ration do not sympathize with the Swords’ cause - without Crow I think we would not have their help at all.

Daring Swords I hear works primarily in the South. Yet, I have had his Infallible Messenger tell me of things to come here in the West. He must either spy on Western Fae courts as well, or he has ways of having their plots and tactics travel to him. However he does it, I am grateful. Knowing the weakness to shatter a Fair Folk’s sword grace, or how to put her behemoth to sleep while a mighty noble Fae sits astride it has made fights I might not have won into routs. Though, I have not heard from him of late.

The Marked Wolf is an exception that proves the rule. She roams Creation, to wherever a new pup is found. She raises pups for us, to hold the line where our fallen have left holes in the defense. I am one of the few who came to the Swords and then benefited from her guidance instead of the other way around. I hear that when she has no pups to raise she calls the North home. I hear a darker rumor that she calls the Northern Underworld home, though I do not believe it.

 **The Western Front**  
I love the Western Ocean. I have seen the thousand faces of Luna reflected from her surface on ten thousand nights. I have seen the sun sparkle on her waves for miles unending. I have dove her depths and soared her heights. I have gone to the far edge of the West where the air and the sea are hardly different and no horizon meets the eye. I have beheld the black hide of the Elemental Dragon of Water Daana’d swimming at the Western Elemental Pole. I love this ocean just the way she is, in the cycles of her ways. I will not suffer the Fair Folk to change her to their mad whims.

The Ocean Father is too weak and too busy with Creation’s concerns to patrol her borders. We Swords of Luna do it for him, though we receive little thanks from him or recognition in his court. To allow that would show his weakness to his subjects, so I understand, but do not agree. Without us, countless enemies would trouble his waters. 

There was the Xia Xerxes of the Black Sand who swelled up from the black depths claiming to have seen the floor of the ocean below the great black Dragon, challenging any who dare call him liar. Of course in the intrigues of the courts, someone convinced him that all the Creation-born thought the Elemental Pole had no floor, and so he swore to convert them all to the Belief of Black Sand by the sword. His court thought that was ripe for storytelling and adventure, so they swam behind him as he invaded. We Swords cut them all down.

There was the ghost ship Okeanos, named after the shattered continent of the West. Out of Skullstone she sailed, headed for Coral, thirsty for blood. It so happened that Him What Waits was on that stretch of sea and bit into their Essence before more than a boat or two’s worth of mortals fed the ghosts upon her.

There was the mad god Triton who spent a month touching every mortal he could in the West, leaving them with tails in the place of legs. He blew his conch shell to raise waves that tore apart whole islands. Most were shattered against the rocks, or forced far below water to drown for lack of gills. And he did it all in the name of Prince Balor to whose mad religion he had converted. I cut him down and razed his sanctum. I keep his conch still. 

There were many more. I’m sure there will be others. The Western Front is never quiet for long. 

**Luna**  
I am grateful to Luna for saving me. She is my savior. I have been devout in her name. Not only for myself, though that would be reason enough. But on the edge of the world... she sees people here more often. Her boons are granted sometimes, when asked, though rarely twice. And against what roams these tainted waters, it’s quite welcome.

On the island of Solia, well surrounded and infused by the Wyld’s touch, live a tribe of outcastes. Due to the Wyld’s mark upon their bodies, the surrounding tribes have banished the poor souls there, with threats not to return. They all have their troubles coming to terms with what they’ve become, and what family they’ve lost. Many take their ostracization to heart, falling into deep depressions or nihilistic rages. I think they would have long ago died out if not for Luna’s blessing.

Somehow, the island itself gives those who live there a soft moonlight glow to Essence sight and makes the emotions of the outcastes of Solia poisonous, or at least unpleasant, to the Fair Folk. I’ve never known a Fae to approach the island. When I’ve asked them why, I get a variety of lies, as is to be expected. But the kernel they all share is that of unpleasant taste or smell or aura or ambiance. If we Western Swords are ever overrun by the Fair Folk, we all know where to rally.

 **My Body**  
Of all my forms both true and false I still consider my human shape to be my own skin, my truest self. Through three mortal lifetimes I have only slightly aged beyond a girl-child’s height and shape to that of a very young, slim woman. I wonder if I will ever truly mature. Despite this, it still feels right to me. I revel in the lightness, the quickness, the underestimation of my enemies. The moon-blood that troubles other women never comes to me. I need little to eat, and just a small space to sleep. At times I feel like I could jump into a strong wind and float there even without wings. 

Though, there are downsides. My bones are as brittle as a bird’s - I’m accustomed to breaking them. My study of Essence and my physical training has had to accommodate this weakness. Luckily, I’ve had demanding and knowledgeable mentors. I’ve never caught the male gaze, least none I would reciprocate, though some females find me charming. I do not understand love, really. The times I have experimented with romance were wholly unfulfilling. And I’ve never born children.

 **Ten Stripes**  
That pup Ten Stripes got the wrong idea about me immediately. Subtle hints of disinterest escalated into unsubtle hints and finally a stern talking to. But even that, through her lust-mad eyes, hardly got through. Love is a madness, and Luna, for all her gifts to her children, has blessed only me with immunity from its grip. The solitude of sleeping mat is a bargain of a price to pay for the sound mind that follows.


	6. Lilith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilith, the stryx who judges what she sees.

**Lunar Factions**  
Lunar factions are not for me. I was in one once, and it’s memory is too closely bound to a life of complete misery for me. So I choose not to be a part of any of them. Sure, some of them do good work, but you limit so much of your life when you find yourself in one of these factions. Most of them I have helped in my time, in one way or another, but that doesn’t mean I want to join them. Interpret that as you may.

I have aided the Swords of Luna in pushing the Wyld and Fae back from Creation. I respect this goal that they have, and I respect many of their members, including the Marked Wolf. I would even say that we have some sort of alliance, for I would agree to aid them if there were to be another like the Balorian crusade. But as I told the Marked Wolf when she attempted to sway me into her faction, it is just not for me. This can not be all you stand and fight for. Isn’t there more to life than this?

The Crossroads Society, as far as I understand it, reminds me of the days before the Usurpation. When Solar Sorcerers would do almost anything to delve deeper into their magic. Where experiments were conducted with no regard to the lives around them, to Creation around them. The Hierophant comes to mind, with his giant, silent golden-men who were always in perpetual excruciating pain, all for the aesthetics of their master. Do we really want to do that again? And then, let’s not even begin to talk about Raksi. Yes, I understand that she is the reason the Lunars still exists as we know them, but she is out of her mind. And as someone who was once out of her mind, I can see the signs.

I understand, to some small extent, the Wardens of Gaia. Was it not part of the plan that Luna had for us when we were created? To protect Gaia? But I feel that there are some in this group that would take their desires too far. Ma-Ha-Suchi would have us destroy all human civilization, to bring all of Creation back into something from the Primordial wars. Why would you follow this nonsense? Yes, protect Gaia, but remember that humans are part of her as much as anything else. 

Now, The Winding Path seems like it would make sense no? Largest of the factions. Save the human societies! Fulfill the Thousand Streams River Project! Bring back the society like it was during the First Age! To the absolute exclusion of all else. Nothing else is important to them - no plan or need of any other faction is worthy of support. And then I can’t say that Tamuz is my favorite person. He seems to feel that he was the only one to be mistreated by his Solar Mate. And then he takes it out on all women for what his mate had done. He’s not the one I want devising any human societies in Creation. Although I can’t help but agree with him on his opinions of the Realm, so he’s not all bad.

As for the Seneschals of the Sun, I simply can’t have any respect for them. Solar rule happened and was found lacking. Following their rule simply because they are Solars has shown to lead to nothing but madness, death, and destruction. Why would you follow this path again? Why would you want this insanity again? They’ll be better this time, right? For they are the true rulers of Creation, outside of the fact that they haven’t ruled for an age. I will never aid this group, even peripherally. And I hope that those who are part of this faction know better than to come near me. There is only so much destructive stupidity I can handle from anyone.

 **Lunar Society**  
I don’t know what possessed me to come back from my time as a beast, but I blame my return to Lunar society on the Marked Wolf. After my mind had returned to me, I found that I knew very little about the world around me and the world that the Lunars existed in. I found her, or she found me, and for weeks we talked of the Lunar history and the changing world around us. It was she who suggested that I find myself a pup. I had never been a mentor, nor did I have any want to be a mentor. But pups have a way of finding you, the Marked Wolf had said. And I guess she was right.

And so, I trained the pup I found swimming lost in the ocean off the Eastern coast. And I kept her and taught her and trained her. She is still too soft and “human” for my own liking, but I feel I will eventually reach her in time with Luna’s divine moonlight. For all the differences we have, I like her well enough. Enough that I have tried to teach her from my mistakes and past. Enough that I want to help her make her way. And so I sent her to a gathering in the East to mark my return into Lunar society. I only hope I prepared her enough for the difficulties being associated with me might bring.

 **The Return of Solars**  
I do not trust the Solars. I did not trust them from my first time being beaten by Desus in front of others of his kind and they each did nothing. I do not trust them because they failed to curtail the more wild desires and actions of their peers. Yet some are undeniably noble and just. I know from then, that not all Solars are bad. To this day, the soul of Contentious Sword is still as virtuous as I remember. And as reckless as he was back then. I remember going through a least three Contentious Swords in my time during the First Age. Contentious Sword is the counterexample my memory provides when I generalize too broadly. Yet in this new age, I still suspect that Solars are susceptible to the madness that took them before. I do not trust most Solars, and I suggest that you do the same. 

**Sidereals**  
You cannot trust a Sidereal. It is as simple as that. And even though I agree now that Solar rule needed to end, how it occurred and the awful outcome to all Lunars was unacceptable. My people were hunted and destroyed, cast out to the edges of the world. Since that time my interactions with the Sidereals cannot be described as anything less than hostile. Never trust a Sidereal.

 **The Dragon-Blooded**  
Now, the Sidereals are one thing, but their servants are another. These ignorant dogs, the Dragon-Blooded, are completely beneath contempt. As bothered as I am by the Sidereals, it is nothing to the utter loathing I have for the Dragon-Blooded. For, although the Sidereals are to blame for the heinous acts against my people, the Dragon-Blooded are the ones that perpetrated these acts and continued to do so for centuries. All in the name of religion! Zealotry has truly rotted their minds. And something has to be done about it. There are times when I don’t blame Leviathan for his little grudge. They have overpopulated this world like vermin, and need to be exterminated. Perhaps Leviathan's cleansed line could be useful in doing so.


	7. Tamuz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamuz, architect of nations.

**War**  
War is a mountain of preparation against a possibility as tangible as the wind. The vast majority of time and effort that goes into a war is not clashing with the enemy, but in leading up to a conflict that cannot be known in advance, though some spark of war is inevitable over the centuries, barring other tragedy. Recruitment, training, logistics, those things wins wars, not heroism. To make those preparations, a society must be firmly bound to each other. They must have an identity to rally behind, a flag they call their own, in order to sacrifice for their country. The warriors place their lives in the hands of the state - not just at risk to enemy fire, but also that their years of effort will not be squandered by rash leaders fighting without the hope of gain. The citizenry sacrifices their meat and bread, their cloth and coin to equip, feed, and pay a force to serve their defense with no guarantee that the army will be there when they are most in need. In today’s world, the city-state is most prominent because the walls clearly define where the nation is, and what the army will protect. Not so with rolling country without natural borders and peasants who have never travelled to their own capital. Only with ties of blood or culture does the nation expand beyond the city in the Second Age, and then rarely far. 

War is an inherently a political act. It is a collective action. It has a scale to it that imposes impersonableness, even if we personify it. 

This understanding translates into all aspects of war, even tactics. Any fool can tell a company to march forward and meet the enemy in melee. But a commander who knows his troops will tell them in a way that stirs their heartstrings, quickens their steps, and makes their sword arms sure. And, a commander that knows his enemy will lead his forces to the area of maximal damage, not just to his enemys’ bodies, but to their pride. When they see their beloved prince’s banner fall, even if his father carries the king’s standard that day, they will be disheartened, and quick to quit the field. 

**Ruling**  
To the imperial mountain, all the world is but its foothills. I must not let that thinking cloud my sight - for Mount Metagalapa is a mountain, not a foothill, and deserves commiserate respect even while floating a far shorter height. I must not think of myself as the king of mountains, or the king of anything. Even my leadership of the Delzahn will be short, just like it was the last time. I feel I have more credibility in this claim than others who make the same, such as Magnificent Jaguar who has lead his jungle tribes for a century and shows no signs of easing out of his role despite paying lip service to the Winding Path. When no mortal in living memory has lead a people or nation, they forget self-determination.

Though I may feel like my methods are superior, I will not impose them upon others unless the alternative is too dire to accept. Each may govern his own territory in their own way. That I get to decide the what is acceptable within my own Territory is my right by the grace of Luna, and a right I respect of my fellows. Until that right impedes others’ rights, of course.

 **The Realm**  
I have always held that the Realm is not an evil to be fought, but a great nation that should be co-opted. Even the bends of the Thousand Streams River who would like to see us all dead deserve study. Elements of these cultures can and should be taken and grafted on to future experiments if they have shown themselves to be worthy by being superior to other nations. My plans regarding the Realm were to find the Scarlet Empress’ likely successor and cultivate myself as her trusted advisor - once I had killed any Sidereal attempting to fill the role, of course. Then, through a series of disastrously bad decisions by that new ruler, I could break the monoculture of the Realm into more manageable set of nations, each of which could diverge along their own paths. Alas, I have had no more success finding an heir than the Realm has, and the Scarlet Empress lived longer than anyone credible predicted. I know because of the time and Jade I spent in Yu-Shan buying the best predictions. 

There is much about the Realm I would change even beyond the obvious flaws of its huge size and dangerous homogeneity. I would allow the people to pray to the gods directly - it humanizes the spirits to hear the troubles of the common folk in their own voices. I would cultivate a rugged understanding of nature through fostering city children with their blood relatives in the country. And I’d instill a proper love of horses. Their cavalry capability is completely lacking. Just because some Dragon-Blooded can’t ride without killing their mounts in battle doesn’t mean the mortals should lower themselves to the ground. Ah, but I’m simply listing details of the Delzahn experiment of which I am so fond. Perhaps it is for the best I never found a way to assert my desires upon the Realm. The Sidereals have certainly introduced strains of thought I never would have considered. That they had the audacity to support a state religion that vilified even themselves was the height of daring. The Immaculate Order is a great source of national pride and strength. With a few tweaks, such as purging most of the older monks and the shikari trained to notice Lunar traits, introducing newly ‘discovered’ chapters of the texts and the like, it might even be salvageable. Gaia’s love for animal life is legendary after all, and some of that love could find it’s way to the Dragons that are her souls...


End file.
